


To the West

by wabbitseason



Category: Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Memorials
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-03-14
Updated: 2004-03-14
Packaged: 2017-10-27 15:50:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/297502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wabbitseason/pseuds/wabbitseason
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No ships would come back to bear the old man to the West.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To the West

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this in January 2004 on the anniversary of J.R.R. Tolkien's birth. I picked it up again after the Oscars ended, intending to post it as a mini tribute.

No ships would come back to bear the old man to the West. He did not receive any special dispensation, nor did he expect any. Although Middle Earth had been his constant companion through his long life, he was prepared to leave that world behind. He would die peacefully in his own bed, as humans should, not overseas in foreign lands, as his friends had.

By his bedside, the old man peered past family members to the doorway. He saw familiar faces waiting to welcome him, including some he had not seen in a half a century, their uniforms no longer caked with blood, mud and mustard gas. Their faces showed bittersweet tears. He smiled wistfully before his eyes closed for the last time in his world. For this was not truly a goodbye, only another tale to be told. His old friend Bilbo might even call it an adventure.

Throughout Middle Earth, the news quickly spread of the old man's passing. Every corner spoke in saddened tribute, stories passed over fires and pints. His loss could not be expressed in words for some. Others sang songs of their fallen historian and folklorist. Middle Earth receded from the immediate memory of the generation the old man touched. They expected to be forgotten.

But something happen no one quite expected. Another generation picked up the ancient tale, until it grew in the telling. The old man's stories of the great deeds of hobbits and men enthralled new and old alike.

Every year a toast rang out in remembrance, echoing throughout the continents. The toast was heard in the Great Halls of Rohan and Gondor, deep into the elven woods and even the dark lands of Mordor. The refrain was picked up in Oxford and Wellington and Arlington. A glass was lifted and a toast offered.

"The Professor."


End file.
